


I find great comfort in you

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Nightmares, Sleepy Cuddles, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, title from The Mountain Goats' 'Riches and Wonders'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: A failed mission leaves Wedge, Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie reeling.





	I find great comfort in you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [camshaft22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/camshaft22/gifts).



The mission had been an unmitigated disaster. Wedge can just manage to control the shaking still lingering in his hands as he sits across the briefing table from Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie, explosions and screams still ringing in his ears, fires blooming across the back of his eyes over and over. He's only grateful to any deity that may be out there listening that all four of them made it back.

Wedge grips his datapad harder, trying to draw his attention back to the task at hand. Once they've finished this debriefing, they can go and rest, and as much as he feels like he needs that, he knows his men feel just as bad. He looks up at them, and it's more than confirmed.

Tycho looks exhausted as he slouches in his chair, but he's attentive as can be, hands folded as calmly as possible on the table in front of him as he watches Wedge in return. His expression echoes Wedge's concern, and Wedge tries to give him a reassuring look.

Hobbie's countenance is achingly bleary, hand trembling around what must be his third can of cold stimcaf since they landed. It's not the first time Wedge has seen him try to deal like this, keeping himself going with stimulants to ward off a crash. It'll come eventually, regardless of how long he puts it off, and Wedge doesn't envy him that. Just the same, he won't comment on his coping mechanisms. They all have them, healthy or not.

Wes is- Well, Wes has fallen asleep in his chair. It's clearly the sleep of the truly drained: he's not even resting on the table, merely slumped against the back of his seat, head tilted to one side. Even sleeping, Wedge can see the wear on him, and he wishes he could do something to take it away. He wishes he didn't have to wake him up and rehash everything that's brought them to this point.

Hobbie follows Wedge's gaze to the man passed out beside him and grimaces as he reaches over to prod him. Wes jerks upright instantly, blinking awake and clearly taking a moment to come back to himself and realize where he is – that he's safe. Instead of making a joke as he usually would, he appears abashed and scrunches down in his seat again.

Hobbie uses one knuckle to slide over the stimcaf and murmurs something quietly enough that Wedge can't hear it on the other side of the large table. Wes takes a massive gulp of the drink and nods, leaning into Hobbie.

Wedge clears his throat. “I know none of us want to do this, but the sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be finished.” The response is three resigned nods. Wedge gathers himself and begins the debriefing in earnest.

The main thing he strives to get across is that this defeat wasn't their fault. They had no way of knowing their intelligence was lacking, that their enemies would ambush the four Rogues and the planetary defense force acting as their allies. There was little they could do when the bombs started falling on the city but race to their X-wings and try to take out the attackers before they could finish the job.

Against such superior forces, others might not have survived. Wedge praises their courage and skill and acknowledges that, yes, luck might have played a part as well. But numbers just weren't on their side. They shouldn't feel guilt, he reasons, that their overwhelming opponents were able to completely raze the city and wipe out their allies before turning on the Rogues. Running was their only option. A mission to locate and help any survivors will be coordinated, but that's out of their hands now.

The only responses he gets are solemn looks and the occasional silent nod. Wedge knows his insistence is token. They all feel this loss as keenly as he does, and nothing he says will make it much better.

“Does anyone have anything to add?” he asks finally.

Two heads shake. Wes simply stares at the stimcaf can in his hand as if contemplating whether he has to strength to raise it to his lips. Hobbie's left hand has disappeared under the table, probably resting on Wes's leg. Tycho has a faraway look in his eyes, blinking slowly like he's about to drift off himself any moment.

Wedge sighs. “That's all for now. I'll need reports from each of you within forty-eight hours. For now, go and get some rest. And good job out there. You did yourselves proud.”

Four chairs scrape across the floor as they stand together. Hobbie pulls the stimcaf can from Wes's limp hand and tosses it in the trash before wrapping his arm around his waist and leading him away. Wedge hopes faintly that they're both able to actually get some sleep.

When he looks over, he finds Tycho waiting for him. “Bed?” the blond asks hopefully, and Wedge nods, reaching for his hand as they leave the room together.

In their quarters, they take turns showering in the tiny adjoining refresher. When Wedge emerges, still scrubbing a towel across his damp hair, he finds Tycho laid out on the bed in his soft gray pajamas, face turned into his pillow as he snores softly.

Wedge's heart warms at the sight, a soft smile blossoming on his face. He drops the towel and climbs onto the bed carefully, spreading himself out beside the other man and reaching out, tracing gentle fingers across his cheek, soothing blond hair away from his face.

Tycho looks so much younger when he's like this. All his cares and worries melted away, no bad memories to focus on, no war to fight. Just a relaxed, deserved sort of innocence and softness as he rests. Wedge wishes he could give it to him more often.

Tycho snuffles quietly, and a moment later blue eyes flutter open. He smiles tiredly up at Wedge. “Guess I dozed off there.”

“It's all right.” Wedge sinks a hand into Tycho's hair and leans in for a kiss. Tycho meets him, murmuring contentedly into the touch. It goes on for some time, closemouthed and warm, not a precursor to anything else, just comfort and closeness given and received for their own sake. At its end, Wedge leans his forehead against Tycho's. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “I know you're tired.”

“You, too.” Tycho blinks heavily, clearly struggling to keep himself awake.

“I will,” Wedge says vaguely, and Tycho frowns at him. Clearly his partner knows him too well.

“Turn 'round,” Tycho instructs, pushing at him weakly. Wedge allows himself to be positioned, settling on his side facing away from Tycho. Then arms go around him, and Tycho snugs up against him, warm all along his back. “That's it,” the blond murmurs. “I've got you. I'm here, if the nightmares come.”

Wedge squeezes his eyes closed. He knows they will. They always do after days like this, when he's emotional and on edge and exhausted. It may not even be today's defeat; his brain may decide to spin up some random past trauma – Yavin or the Krytos virus or even his parents or Mala. As tired as he is, he's in no rush relive any of that pain.

“Go to sleep, Wedge,” Tycho encourages, lips brushing the back of his neck. “It's all right.”

Sleep tugs at him, pulling him down, and Wedge knows soon he won't be able to resist anyway. He lays a hand over one of Tycho's where it rests on his chest. “I love you.”

Tycho shifts, cups Wedge's cheek and guides him back for one last gentle kiss. Wedge lets its warmth carry him into sleep.

When he jerks awake an hour later, the ghost smell of smoke in his nostrils and chest tight with remembered fear, Tycho is still there, still holding him.

“It's all right, Wedge,” that comforting voice murmurs in his ear, sleepy but solid. “It's not real. You're safe. I've got you.”

Wedge takes a breath and lets his eyes drift closed again, lets the images flow away in the warmth of Tycho's arms and the care of his words. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Camshaft22 asked for the following from the whump trope bingo card on Tumblr: "Hobbie: chugging caffeine to fight off the crash. Wedge: scared to sleep due to nightmares, Tycho: looking far younger in his sleep, and Wes: dozing off when he shouldn't."


End file.
